Unless I stumble across another stash of writings – which is certainly possible – we’ll have to settle for the titles of volumes 2 and 3 of Cancerland and our imagination for what those chapters might have shared.
Penny’s leaving left many things unfinished. Some of these I knew about.
The sheer volume of yarn could not be hidden and … unknit gloves, mitties, socks, sweaters, and scarves. Some of the yarn is remnants of past projects, but much more was a stash waiting for future inspiration. An entire roughneck bin is now filled with projects that were started but not completed. Most of these had been discovered in bags in nearly every room of the house – ready to be grabbed and resumed at any moment, needles and stitch counters waiting for her hands to take up the project again. Another bin is filled with yarn that was found near a pattern – projects planned, but not yet started. There were boxes of yarn that had arrived in the mail and had no indication of the intended use. Even more yarn organized by color or type. Still more she had already given away. Anyone who knew her well knew that there was unfinished knitting.
Cancerland was not the only unfinished writing project. Two more cookbooks were in progress. One she was really hoping to finish, but in the last months she simply didn’t have the energy and focus it required. Taking a look to see what would be required for me to finish them is on the to-do list, but I haven’t gotten to it yet either.
And there is the giant unstarted painting of our dog, Tasman. She and a friend were planning to paint their dogs at a place that turns a photo of your dog into a light outline and teaches you how to turn it into a painting. I think she had to cancel the painting session twice, and then she had them give her the painting supplies so she could paint it little by little at home. She watched some training videos they sent, and investigated the paint colors she had to work with, but never had the energy to paint.
Combining art and writing were the cards. Sometimes she would make cards in advance, figuring there would come a time to use them. More often she made them for a particular person and moment and sent them immediately. But I found a handful of cards – often tucked into an odd journal or knitting bag, and a couple of addressed and stamped envelopes that were not next to any particular card. I also found a pretty impressive stash of purchased cards. She hadn’t been using them much in recent years since taking up making cards herself. No doubt, she would have sent many more cards had their been more time.
Last week I found another stash of gifts. Penny liked to accumulate things that she thought might make good gifts. Sometimes she had a particular person or event in mind, some times not. I suspect I’ve not yet found all of them.
Some unfinished things I did not know about. The most interesting one was a journal that was to become her “100 PAGES Project.” She began it shortly after her father died of cancer in 2010, more than five years before her own diagnosis. This collection of “reflection, whimsy, and ¿wisdom?” was written for “my children & grandchildren & other curious, compassionate readers (you know who you are).”
Here’s a sample page (the original was hand-written):
When Grandpa Dykstra passed away, he left behind lots of things, like 2 walkers, several pairs of big shoes, unopened packages of white undershirts (because Grandma stoked up at sales), and because he was a pediatric surgeon – lots of healed and healthy people.
As we start to sort the closets and shelves, I hope we find something like this book – a way to glimpse what Grandpa thought and felt and wondered about. I’m not counting on finding such a treasure, but I can hope AND I can begin my own 100 PAGES Project – a collage of bits of life – feelings, thoughts, and wonder – something to help the kids remember together. So, no arguing about who gets to or who has to keep this book.
LESSON #1: SHARE
The 100 PAGES Project has fewer that 20 pages. I’m not sure what interrupted her, but I can guess. Penny’s mother was scheduled for heart surgery the week after her father’s funeral. The surgeon pushed the surgery back another week, but didn’t want to wait any longer. During several months of post-surgical complications and time in and out of the hospital and rehab, Penny visited her mother every day, on top of work, family life with three kids and an exchange student, and everything else we had going on. I’m guessing that left her less time than anticipated for this project.
Some of you may wonder how much of Penny’s attitude and outlook were shaped by her cancer diagnosis. I think that the answer to that is very little. The first page of her 100 PAGES Project describes a pre-existing disposition that she maintained throughout her time in Cancerland.
WALK with purpose. RUN freely. WALLOW in the joys. BREATHE deeply.
Create moments and days and works of hand that bring COLOR & TEXTURE & MUSIC to the journey.
DO those things NOW that will allow you to LOOK back at a sensual, intricately detailed, Soulful Landscape of life. A Place where you would long to be again, were it not for the beautiful possibilities that lie ahead.
Of course, cancer did change some things. There were times when walking was difficult, running impossible, and breathing deeply was challenging. She always tried to wallow in whatever joys were available, but there were days when joys were harder to find. When she wasn’t able to create works of hand, and when days were too long, she focused on moments and continued to look for ways to bring color and texture to the journey – even when that just meant having me bring a colorful blanket to the hospital to liven up the room a bit. When now was hard, she continued to look for beautiful possibilities ahead.
Cancer also brought with it lament. Lament for things that were no longer possible, for conversations that would not happen, for hospitality that would not be extended, for grandchildren she would not meet (and spoil), for gifts that would not be given, for the adventures in all of our lives that she would not get to share in, or hear tell of, or write about.
For all the things that would forever remain unfinished.